


Running with the Wolves

by erebones



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Modern Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erebones/pseuds/erebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my werewolf prompts turned into cohesive chapters, with other stuff thrown in. Carver Hawke has been a werewolf for years, eking out a humble life in a cabin high in the Frostbacks. When his friend Felix is bitten, he turns to Carver for help, and the buried romance between them flourishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Listen, I really appreciate this. I know it’s a huge inconvenience...”

“Shut up, Fee, it’s not an inconvenience.” Carver flicks on the lights in the living room, illuminating everything in a soft, warm glow. He’s already piled blankets on the couch, and though he’s not looking forward to a night on the rickety old beast—an inheritance from Garrett that he hasn’t yet managed to get rid of—he’s more than willing to make the sacrifice for Felix. “Come on, I’ll show you the bedroom.” He trawls through the room to the stairs, built from rough-hewn wood he chopped himself, now worn smooth on the tops from five years of use. It’s only at their base that he realizes Felix hasn’t followed him. “Something wrong?”

Felix lingers by the couch uncertainly. “Aren’t I sleeping down here?” 

“Of course not. I’m not going to make you sleep on that old thing, you’d wake up with your spine in knots.”

“So you’re sleeping on it instead,” Felix says, nonplussed. 

“That was the plan, yeah. Come on, don’t fight me on this. I can give you a good night’s sleep at least, if nothing else.”

“Don’t be silly,” Felix says quietly. “You’re doing a lot for me already.”

Carver shrugs. “There’s no one else I’d rather do it for.” Without waiting to see if he follows, he heads upstairs to the loft. It’s pretty sparse, but comfortable, with a thick shag rug and a king-sized bed piled with blankets for the cold Frostback nights. The stove isn’t lit so he bends to do that, adjusting the gas to the right angle until heat blooms in his face. When he steps back, dusting off his hands, Felix has arrived, bag still slung over his shoulder as he surveys the bed. 

“You know, there’s probably plenty of room for both of us. No need for anyone to sleep on the couch if it’s not necessary.” 

Carver looks at the bed, too. “I kind of sprawl.”

“That’s okay. Um. I’ve been sleeping in my smalls lately, because of the...”

“Hot blooded? Yeah, it happens, don’t worry about it. I was that way too, at first.” 

“Does it... subside, eventually?”

“Give it a year or so. Or maybe you just get used to it—I still can’t decide.” 

They get ready for bed in relative silence, but it isn’t uncomfortable. They’re too accustomed to one another for that. Felix has been one of the few people outside his family to visit him regularly since he was bitten, usually staying in a hotel in the town half an hour’s drive away, and he feels a kinship with him that he’s felt with almost no one else. Even Garrett still rubs him the wrong way, though he puts that to a lifetime of butting heads rather than the wolf truly disliking him. The wolf makes it known, when it dislikes people. There’s never any room for debate. 

But Felix has always been his friend. The news about his... accident... had been startling and sad, but Carver would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit excited by the prospect. He’d been alone for what felt like decades, but the wolf inside him was made to run with others of his kind. He needs a pack. Maybe Felix could be that. 

“I didn’t bring much,” Felix says of the meager contents of his bag when they return to the loft. He plucks at the collar of his shirt, clearly over-warm—he’s pink in the face and glassy-eyed, and Carver feels the keen ache of sympathy in his breast. He remembers clearly the discomfort of the first few cycles, when the wolf is still ill at ease inside. 

“That’s all right. You know I live like a monk.” Projecting calm disinterest as much as he can, he strips out of his clothes and pulls on a clean pair of boxers. He didn’t tell Felix, but he sleeps naked most days, even in the dead of winter. He hasn’t had time to change the bedding since Felix contacted him earlier that day asking if he could crash with him for a day or two—or a week—until he got his bearings, and he wonders what the wolf inside him will think of it. Surrounded by another’s scent, the traces of sweat and oil and, yeah, probably a little bit of semen imprinted in the sheets. It’s a potent mix, especially for a young werewolf. But Felix looks dog-tired enough that it probably won’t be an issue. He’ll fall right to sleep, and that will be that. 

They climb into bed, and true to Felix’s word, it’s plenty big enough for both of them, with space between for him to stretch out his toes. Still, his neck prickles even in the dark, every sense on high alert. The wolf knows. The wolf always knows. _Friend. Pack. Mate?_

 _No_ , Carver tells it sternly, and rolls over onto his side. _Stop that_. 

The wolf whines and prowls, pacing back and forth, _wondering_. On the other side of the bed, Felix’s breathing steadies and slows, and Carver forces himself to do the same. 

///

He wakes up feeling warmer than usual, though not uncomfortably so, with a few pale strips of first light laying over the bed. His body has sprawled overnight as he expected, limbs melting across the mattress—he twitches, like a dog in its sleep, feeling the weight of another body pressed up against his own. _Felix_. 

His friend has nestled in against his side during the night, face down in the pillows under Carver’s armpit and his arms folded in between his own chest and Carver’s ribs. His leg is slung over Carver’s, and his breaths puff steady and slow, hypnotic. Carver stares at the ceiling. He can’t tell which part of him is more intrigued, his human self or the wolf. Perhaps a little of both. Giving in to the urge to scent, he rolls gingerly and tucks his nose along the top of Felix’s head. It’s not normally a place rich with pheromones, but a night spent in the warmth and safety of Carver’s bed has lifted oil to the surface of his scalp. It smells spicy and alluring to the wolf’s nose, but Carver restrains himself. _None of that. Not while he’s asleep._

“Mmhn. Carv?”

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Felix stirs, and seems to realize where his face is planted. “Uh. Sorry, I…”

“It’s fine. It’s flattering, actually,” Carver admits, watching with some regret as Felix sits up and rubs his eyes.

“Flattering? How so?”

“You gravitated toward my scent in your sleep. It means you trust me, consider me safe. Pack,” he adds. He watches Felix closely for a negative reaction to the word, but he only cracks his neck and lays back down, close to Carver but not as close as before.

“Is that… a thing? I was doing some reading on the way down, and, um. It seems like there are conflicting reports.”

“That’s because the people who write those books are working from a fuckton of superstition instead of science. Pack is a ‘thing,’ yes. It’s why I was so glad to see you, all those times. The lone wolf idea is a ton of bullshit. You need people. Preferably others of your kind, but anyone will do in a pinch.”

Felix cranes his head to look up at him, positioned lower on the bed as he is. “You haven’t really said ‘werewolf’ out loud, yet. Is there a reason for that?”

“Werewolf isn’t what I am—it’s what society likes to call us, because it makes sense to them, but I don’t like it. I’m a man, and I’m a wolf. Not half and half, not sometimes, but both, _all_ , all the time. You can feel him, can’t you? Your wolf, inside your head?”

Felix’s dark eyes turn inward, considering. “Yes. It’s… it’s like he’s scratching at the walls, trying to get out.”

“It’ll feel like that for a while, I’m afraid. Your first cycle is always the hardest.” He wriggles down the bed a little ways and lets their thighs brush together under the covers. Felix doesn’t pull away. “Full moon’s in a week, though. That’s not so bad.”

Felix closes his eyes. “Does it hurt?” he asks in a small voice.

“Changing? I… _hurt_ isn’t really the right word. It’s more… overwhelming. The first time is the worst. It’s not really painful, just. Intense, I suppose. I’m told it helps to have a friend or packmate with you when it happens.”

“You’re told?”

“Well, yes. I didn’t have anyone, so I don’t know for certain.”

Carver isn’t looking at him, so the hand slipping into his is a surprise. “I’m glad you’re my pack, Carver. And I’m—I’m scared, but I’m glad I have you. Here.”

“You’re stuck with me now, I’m afraid,” Carver says quietly. His hand closes reflexively around Felix’s, and he longs to move closer. To scent the rich swath of his neck, to rub their bodies together, mark him, make him _his_. He shudders. He can no longer tell if it’s his own desire, or the wolf’s.

“How do we become pack? Is there, I don’t know, a ceremony or something?”

Carver snorts. “I don’t think so. We get along, our wolves get along... as far as I can tell. That’s about all that’s required.”

Felix rolls onto his belly and props his chin on his folded arms. “What does your wolf think of me?”

Carver’s mind bends like a rubber band, the circle stretching into parallel lines that twist and curl together until they’re nearly indistinguishable. Nothing changes, outwardly, but he can smell Felix a little stronger than before, feel the prickle of his body hair like scratchy wool against his skin. The wolf rears up, intrigued. He licks his lips. “You are pack,” he says decisively, voice rumbling in his chest. It’s his own voice—the wolf can’t speak with human words—but there’s something feral about it all the same. “You have always been pack. But now you can run with us and not grow tired; sleep beside us and not grow restless with fear. You are of our blood and bone. Pack. Friend.”  _Mate_. The word curls on his tongue, tastes like moss and woodsmoke. He shudders and opens his eyes. 

Felix is staring at him, pupils dilated and his lips slick with saliva. As Carver watches, he dips his head and tilts it slightly to the side, as if stretching, or listening to something Carver can’t quite hear. Palm itching, he reaches out and touches the elongated curve of his neck, delicate, relishing the quiver that runs through Felix at the contact. “Carv...”

“Yeah?”

“I think, um. I think my wolf likes you. A lot.”

The way he says _my wolf_ , hesitant and sort of clumsy like he’s still growing accustomed to it, is impossibly endearing. Carver chews on the inside of his lip in thought. “Yeah, that’s... normal. I think.”

Felix snaps his eyes to him, a little bit yellower around the edges than they were before. “You think?”

“I mean, I... I think so. My wolf’s rather fond of you, too. Always has been.”

“Is there ever a disconnect? Like, you like someone but your wolf doesn’t?”

“More like the other way around,” Carver mutters. “Gare still annoys the fuck out of me, but the wolf knows he’s family. Pack. Trustworthy. Whatever.”

“And I’m sure he never lets you live it down,” Felix teases. Their thighs are still pressed together under the blankets—Carver’s skin is on fire. _Smell his want for us_ , says the wolf, perturbed by his reticence. Carver cups the side of his jaw, thumb sliding down, down into the hollow of his throat, the most tender and vulnerable place within reach. The place a wolf bares to show submission. Felix drags in a ragged breath, showing just the slightest bit of a pink tongue. 

 _Maker_. “Fee...”

“Andraste’s ass, Carver, just _kiss_ me.” 

Carver feels more wolf than man when he seizes Fee’s face in both hands and devours his mouth. His heart is racing and his blood feels aflame, stoked higher by the intoxicating feel of his stumbled cheeks against his palms. Felix moans and his thigh moves against his, reminding him of what little clothing they’re both wearing. His hands immediately find their way beneath the covers—down his smooth chest, over pebbled nipples, and along his back, muscled and flexing as Felix presses closer into his arms. 

He grabs a handful of ass and Felix whimpers, fingers skidding across the breadth of his chest. “Yes, oh _fuck_ , Carver…”

“How long have you wanted this?” Carver rasps. His nose follows the pheromone trail down his throat and under his arms, and he wrests Felix’s hands above his head for better access. It’s easy, like this, to roll him over onto his back and sit bestride him, drawing deep, dizzying whuffs of air into his lungs.

“I—I don’t know. Ages. But I thought… you wouldn’t want me. That your wolf wouldn’t want me.”

“The wolf has always been indifferent,” Carver admits, sitting back a little. He palms the side of Felix’s face and traces his lower lip with his thumb. “Now… he’s very interested. Very.” _Ours. He is ours, they belong to us_.

“And you?” Felix asks quietly, pulling him out of his head. He’s flushed and dark-eyed where he lays against the pillows, and Carver can’t resist stroking his pretty brown nipples with light fingers.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” Carver admits. He spreads his palm in the center of Felix’s chest. Already the blood mark is starting to show beneath the skin, the rune that marks him as _wolf_. Carver’s is dark and carmine red with age, a sprawling spiral blotch that swells and recedes with the waxing and waning of the moon, but Felix’s is only a spattering of rust-brown, formless and new. “I just… well, you know what I am. Have been for years, now, and the most I’ve done for myself is build a little shack in the woods and occasionally remember to get groceries. I’m hardly an auspicious catch.”

Felix frowns, reaching up to touch his face. Carver wonders if it’s a wolf thing—he hasn’t been with anyone since he was bitten, so he can’t say for sure, but there’s something primal and necessary about it. Something intimate. He leans into Felix’s touch and sighs with his fingers trail down his beard to his throat, nails scraping lightly at the tender flesh. “You shouldn’t say that about yourself,” Felix says, soft but determined. “You’re amazing. You build this house all by yourself, without training; you continue to be a part of society even though I know your natural inclination is to retreat from it; and you write, for goodness’ sake. I’ve seen some of your work, Carve, it’s truly remarkable. No one else is doing that. Writing about the wolf, honestly, from a… from that perspective.”

“You can say _werewolf_ ,” Carver says, amused. “You’re of that blood, now. You can call yourself whatever you like.”

“I don’t want to call myself anything except for _yours_.” He digs his nails into Carver’s nape and drags him down, mouth to mouth. “Mate with me.”

“Kinky,” Carver growls, low in his chest, and it’s only half a joke. His cock is rock-hard in his smalls, has been since he woke up, and those words coming from _Felix_ of all people… _Maker preserve me._ He kisses Felix hard and presses their bellies together, bare and vulnerable. Heat sizzles through him at the full-body contact, and the wolf inside him howls. Triumphant. _Ours_.

 _Yeah, all right, have it your way_ , Carver thinks, and claims Felix for his own.


	2. Chapter 2

Carver has never felt more tired in his life. His head is aching, a side-effect of the flu he is only just beginning to shake off, and he can’t feel his fingers or the tips of his ears for how cold it is. He stamps a circle in the ground and tucks his nose into his scarf, longing for a nice hot shower and then bed, with the fire roaring and the blankets piled high and Felix tucked in next to him, warm and smooth and safe. 

He sighs, breath frosting cruelly in the air. _Felix_. The reason he’s out here, freezing his bollocks off at the tail-end of the second moon of Wintermarch. He rubs his nose to get the blood flowing and sighs. He’s glad Felix has taken so well to his wolf self, but still. He’d rather be in bed. 

The moon is just a fingerspan or two above the horizon and he’s starting to get genuinely concerned when his sensitive ears pick up something just beyond the range of normal human hearing. He turns. Out of the dark, a pale silver-grey shadow against the dappled snowfall, comes Felix. He grins and holds his hand out, fingers splayed in spite of the cold. In only a few breaths, Felix comes barreling by, a furry torpedo clipping through his fingers and grinding to a skittering, tail-wagging halt. He does an immediate about-face and trots back to Carver, thrusting his cold nose into his hand and looking up at him with soulful brown eyes. 

It’s still a bit weird seeing Fee’s eyes in the wolf’s face. His wolf has never been very interested in looking at his own reflection, so he has no comparison. But he’s beautiful, Felix is, with a snowy white coat just barely tinged with grey and a few flecks of black along his spine. 

“Have a good run?” he asks, ruffling Felix’s large ears. They’re a little bigger than Carver’s, a perfect match for his human traits that Carver finds incredibly endearing. He tugs on Felix’s ruff and starts the walk back to the cabin. “Come on then, you brute, before the moon sets and you’re stuck walking naked the rest of the way.” 

He’s still not sure how much Felix understands when he wears the wolf form—this is only his second cycle, and he still hasn’t gotten a handle on shifting forms at will—but something must get through, because Felix barks and takes off, tail streaming behind him as he bounds down the mountainside toward the cabin. Carver rolls his eyes, more fond than irritated, and follows. 

When he lets himself in, Felix is already there, pink from head to toe and dressed only in a pair of smalls, a minimal nod to decency after the wolf’s free reign. Changing forms can be taxing, but Felix just looks energized, flush with health and heat after his night’s gallivant. He nuzzles up to Carver immediately, nose going straight to his ear and fingers burrowing into his beard. “Good night?” Carver grunts, standing still and letting him relearn Carver’s scent and feel in this form. He doesn’t touch, in case his skin is still too sensitive, but Felix grabs hold of his hands anyway and presses them to his mouth. 

“Maker, you’re freezing. Come on, I’ll draw you a bath.”

“Do I not smell nice?” Carver teases, though he lets Felix drag him through the house regardless. 

“You smell wonderful, but you’re cold and it’s my fault. So come here. Strip.” 

Felix runs him a bath—hot water only, no soap or bubbles, not that Carver owns any of the latter—and all but bullies him inside, pulling up a chair beside the tub so he can massage Carver’s scalp with shampoo. Carver can smell the electricity of his arousal, sharp and pungent through the steam, and it activates his own like a virus in the blood. He curls a hand around his half-hard prick and sighs. 

“Hey there,” Felix murmurs, sounding amused. “I’m feeling left out.”

“Mmm. Get in here then, sweetheart.” 

His eyes are closed, so he only hears Felix as he stands, chair legs sifting against the floor, brief peeling away and whispering down his thighs. Then the plunk and shift of water, and Felix is kneeling between his thighs, eyes dark and feral in the low light. He leans forward and Carver thinks he catches a glimpse of sharp, elongated teeth before they’re kissing. 

It’s not a sharp kiss. It’s soft, languid, slow, drugged with the hot water and the curls of steam that wreath them like breath huffed hard into the cold. Felix reaches down and pulls on his cock lazily. 

“How did I do?” he whispers against Carver’s lips. 

“You’re a quick learner. But... mmmmmhh... you’re easily distracted. I was afraid you weren’t going to come back in time and that I would have to try and find your naked body before you froze to death.”

“Bloody grim. Couldn’t you shift yourself and find me?”

“And what, drag you back with my teeth? Shift forms and carry you, also naked, until _I_ froze to death?” He speaks only partly in jest. The danger is very real at this time of year, and though he doubts it would ever come to such extremes, he wants to impress upon Felix the importance of staying close. 

“I am sorry, _amatus_ ,” Felix says, leaning their foreheads together. His hand has slowed, so Carver reaches down and grips Felix’s cock in turn, coaxing them to some kind of rhythm beneath the water. 

“It’s all right. Now you know.” He curls a hand behind his head and leans back against the tub. “Maker, but you’re beautiful.”

Felix preens. “Thank you.”

“Stands to reason you’d be gorgeous in both forms.” He releases his cock and smoothes his wet hand down Felix’s belly, admiring the subtle musculature. “My beautiful ghost wolf.”

“Carv,” he gasps suddenly, bucking into his hand. “Please...”

“Close already? Shifting gets you hot?”

“ _You_ get me hot,” Felix says petulantly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “All the time. But especially now. Maker...”

Carver knows what he means. Everything is more intense when the moon is full, more raw, closer to the surface. The wolf breathes and growls just beneath his skin, as if ready to burst forth. “Fuck,” he bites out as the rush comes, tidal. He frees his hand from behind his head to grip Felix’s waist, pinning him in place as they jerk each other off. His forehead falls to Felix’s shoulder and he watches, dazed, as their cocks spit out murky jets of cum into the water, one after another. 

“Ahhhhhh....” Felix tips his head back, smiling as he sighs out all the air in his lungs. “That was good.” He swipes his thumb over the head of Carver’s prick and hums when he twitches in oversensitivity. “Are you warm now?”

“Hnnng. Yeah. Fuck.” He sighs long and loud, and tugs Felix down to lay against him. “C’mere. Just for a minute.”

“Okay,” Felix says, laughing against his skin. “Just for a minute.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is no bestiality in this chapter, but for some folks it may toe the line. proceed with caution.

Felix has the most deliciously soft fur. Carver feels a little weird when he first climbs into his bed in wolf form, head low and ears back as if he’s ready to be reprimanded. But Carver only sighs and flips the covers back, and Felix jumps up with a little yip of excitement and burrows his cold, wet nose under Carver’s arm. Carver shoves at him half-heartedly, already knowing he’s here to stay. 

“Stop that. Maker, I should never have encouraged this shape-shifting business.”

Felix tucks his head back and looks at him out of the corner of one eye. They’re deep brown, unusual in such a light-colored wolf, and as beautiful and velvety as the eyes of his lover. The same eyes, in fact. Carver softens and strokes the smooth patina of his snout. 

“Who’s a pretty wolf, hmm? Who’s a beautiful boy?”

Felix lifts one lip in a silent snarl, but his tail thumps twice against the mattress and Carver laughs. 

“Not so easy to bluff anymore, is it?” He ruffles him briskly between the ears. “Come on then. I’m going to sleep. Am I going to wake up to an armful of wolf or man?”

Felix sniffs at his chin and licks it a few times, fondly. Carver had banned “kisses” a while ago after Felix had licked him right on the mouth after a particularly bloody kill, so this is toeing the line, but he’ll accept it. Then he rolls onto his back in the sheets, with much snorting and leg-kicking, until he’s happily ensconced along Carver’s side. Carver is naked under the covers, and Felix’s belly fur is soft and thick, like a shag rug. He buries his nose in his ruff and slings an arm across his ribs, and falls asleep in minutes, lulled by the quiet contentment of the wolf inside his head. 

When he wakes he’s overwarm, even though the blankets have been kicked off around his ankles, and there’s a floof of tail in his face. He bats it away and gets a cold nose on his thigh for his trouble. “Stoppit,” he mumbles, and Felix subsides. He wriggles down a little more into the mattress and combs his fingers through Felix’s lush fur. He sighs and closes his eyes. 

A moment or maybe minutes later, he feels the hot, wet nudge of a tongue against his leg. He twitches away from it instinctively, and then relaxes, lulled by his wolf and the softness of the morning. He can feel the bristle of Felix’s snout, the whuffs of breath as he sniffs his sleep-warm skin, along his hipbone and the crease of his thigh. His prick lays plumply against his bollocks, barely a whisker away from Felix’s curious nose, but Carver doesn’t mind. The wolf inside is content with the closeness of his lover, and so is he. 

Felix licks his thigh again, his tongue like warm silk. Carver tightens his fingers in his ruff and hums. His blood is moving a little faster through his veins, skin prickling with hypersensitivity, and when Felix noses his bollocks and pushes a little further in between his thighs he lets it happen, legs sprawling a little wider on the mattress. 

He hums, fingers smoothing down the soft ridge of one ear. Between his legs he feels warmth and wet, and he tightens his grip instinctively, pulling him back. Felix looks back at him over his shoulder with one dark, reproachful eye. “Fee...”

It’s a line they haven’t crossed before. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it, but the space between fantasy and reality is sometimes wider that it looks. He strokes Felix’s soft ears and cunning muzzle, and he loves him, but the man in him balks where the wolf only feels desire. 

 _Mate_ , the wolf insists, but Carver wants to feel skin and sweat, hear the voice he knows so well crying out with need. 

He doesn’t speak, but Felix understands. With a low whine he lopes off the bed and out of the room. Carver sighs and lays back again. _Now he’ll sulk for a while and we’ll both be out of sorts_. But a minute later the door creaks open again, and Felix walks in on two legs, sheepish and wearing a pair of pants he must have fetched from the laundry. He hovers silently by the foot of the bed until Carver beckons him, and then he crawls back in and lays against his side, the way they’d fallen asleep the night before. 

“All right?” Carver murmurs, curling an arm around his body and up to stroke his hair. Felix nods against his shoulder. He isn’t very talkative after long periods in wolf form, so Carver doesn’t press him, just pets him and lets his warmth seep into his clammy skin until he feels halfway human again. 

He can feel the shift when it happens. Felix makes a soft noise in his throat and tucks his chin down, lips dry and smooth on Carver’s shoulder. There’s something about the energy in the air, too, the weight and poignancy of Felix’s regard that lifts the hairs on his arms and legs like he’s being watched by unseen eyes in the dark. He grips the back of Felix’s neck firmly, but not too hard, and feels him melt like putty in his hands. The man in him is still uncertain of this balance between them, but the wolf is satisfied.

He draws him into a kiss, and Felix comes willingly, ever following his lead. The taste of him is rich with earth and sour musk, cold like snowmelt and warmer than the coals stoked and flickering in the stove. He tastes like the wolf inside him feels, prowling and restless. His blunt nails scrape skin, and Felix mewls into his mouth, body curling around him like a comma. His semi-soft cock nudges Carver’s hip through his smallclothes, and Carver reaches down to squeeze his thigh.

Felix huffs a breath through his nose and the kiss breaks. With enough space between them, Carver can see how dark his eyes have grown, how pink his cheeks are under the warm brown of his skin. He wants to lick him—his mouth, his jaw, his eyelid—wants to sink his teeth into the tender flesh just under his chin.

Felix looks down and to the side. Carver strokes his jaw, coaxing, but he only leans into it hard enough that Carver’s fingers curl around the shell of his ear and tickle the nape of his neck. “Fee?”

“Hmmm.” He rubs his head back and forth until Carver gets the hint and starts scritching behind his ear. “What is it?”

“Are you with me?” Carver asks, because he isn’t sure. He wonders if he traded the skin of the wolf for its mind and soul. Above him, Felix stretches, wriggling out of his pants and sprawling across his body like a road map leading to parts unknown. He runs light fingertips down his spine and feels him arch, one long line from chin to tailbone made of golden skin and starlight.

“I’m here,” Felix whispers. His eyes are shut. When Carver kisses them, one by one, he smiles and the glint of his incisors are perfectly white against his red mouth. “I’m running.”

Carver knows the feeling well. When the wolf has rein inside the body after changing, and the man relinquishes his dominance, becoming liquid to give way where the beast wishes. He strokes Felix’s back one more time and then bucks, throwing his weight off onto the mattress and burying his face in the hot crook of his neck. “Come back to me,” he growls, with the weight of the wolf behind his words. He puts his hand in the center of Felix’s chest when his lover threatens to shake off his weight, and nips at his ear. “Come back, Felix. I want you.”

Felix twists under the pressure and bares his teeth, eyes still to the side in submission. “Fuck me,” he says, and Carver doesn’t know if it’s the man or the wolf anymore.

Abruptly he slides off the bed and finds a pair of briefs, stumbling into them. He doesn’t really need them, considering his property is vast and borders on the Frostback Wildlife Preserve, but it’s for his own peace of mind. Felix follows with a disgruntled expression, shoulders hunched and eyes black as they track Carver’s movements. Carver approaches him slowly, reaching out—when he doesn’t shrink away, he lays his hand on his shoulder and strokes the planes of his chest soothingly, the equivalent of stroking the dense white fur at his throat.

“Run with me,” he says. He traces the musculature of his arm, down the bones and tendons to curl their fingers together. Felix’s head comes up and his grin is full of teeth.

Carver leads him down the stairs and outside, where the spring morning is still fogged and lit with a soft, golden light that kisses the frost on the grass and the mountain slopes where snow clings stubbornly year-round. The wolf inside him paces, restless, but he clamps down and shakes it off, hot-blooded but keeping the change at arm’s length. He shakes out his arms and shoulders and blows a stream of white into the air. Beside and a little behind him, Felix shifts his weight from foot to foot and looks around as if with new eyes. He’s completely naked, each mole and freckle standing stark against the velvety brown of his skin. His blood mark over his sternum is waning, still dark after the change.

Energy coils in Carver’s thighs and core, fingers flexing in readiness. Felix catches the movement out of the corner of his eye and turns to look, and in that split second Carver explodes into movement. The human form isn’t nearly as streamlined for running as the wolf, but it’s still wonderful, grounding—he leaps over the low stone fence bordering the yard and races into the mossy field, calloused feet eating up the tundra’s icy carpet.

Then, on a dime, he turns and skids to a halt, and he’s almost not ready for Felix to crash into him, caught mid-leap as he bounds over a slab of granite peeking from the earth like a turtle from a pond. Carver staggers back, feeling the blow distantly in his gut, and they fall to the grass in a tangle, wrestling and grabbing at each other like boys—Carver is careful not to break skin, but Felix is still wild, lashing out with teeth and nails until finally, ages later, all the energy is wrung out of him like water from a damp cloth and he lays flat on his back, ribs heaving for breath and mouth lolling open like a dog’s.

Carver eases back, too, one eye on Felix as he touches the places on his body that have been peeled open. There are scrapes on his arms and shoulders, and he’s bleeding here and there on his chest where Felix nipped him, but nothing worth stitching. He peels a bit of moss off the ground and dabs at himself, and the chill of it eases the sting.

“Carv.”

He looks over. Felix is still on his back, with a few pretty bruises starting to form. He rubs at his face in a distinctly human gesture, leaving a smear of dirt behind, and he pushes himself up to sitting with the achingly slow movements of an old man. Carver sits up, too. “All right?”

Felix looks at him and blanches. “Maker preserve me, did _I_ do that?”

“Do you not remember? It’s all right, we were just playing,” Carver soothes, seeing the panic rising in Felix’s eyes. “I’m not hurt.”

“Not hurt? You’re _bleeding_ , for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s no worse than what we do to each other in wolf form.” He reaches out, and Felix reluctantly leans into his touch until they’re lying together on the ground, legs tangled and Felix’s hand lightly tracing the scrapes his nails have left behind. “It’s okay. Promise.”

Felix noses along the curve of his neck and places a single, damp kiss under his jaw. “I’m sleepy.”

“Want to go back to bed?”

“Want to stay here with you.” He huffs hot breath against his throat. “My skin hurts.”

Carver shakes with silent laughter. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Hff. I needed it.” He kisses him again, but it’s feather-light and lazy, lips sliding off his skin almost as soon as they make contact. When Carver cranes his neck to look, he can see Felix’s eyes sliding shut, lashes dark and sooty against his cheeks. With a smile, Carver loops his arms around Felix’s body and hauls him up against his chest like a child for the walk back to the house.

“Hold on to me,” he warns when Felix starts to slip. Felix only grunts and pushes his face into Carver’s collarbones.

They make it to the front door without incident—it’s still swinging open in the slight breeze, and Carver nudges him through before closing it firmly behind them. Upstairs, he stokes the fire into a proper blaze. When he turns back, Felix is there with a first aid kit, clearly falling asleep but determined to take care of him. Obediently, Carver sits on the edge of the mattress and tries not to wince at the sting as Felix cleans his cuts and scrapes with alcohol. Afterward he kisses each one and presses him down into the pillows.

“Come here,” Carver says. He’s not that tired, but Felix is about to drop, and he doesn’t mind laying in bed a little longer. He opens his arms, and Felix falls into them—skin and limbs and warm, sleepy breath, smelling like frost and woodsmoke and spice. He rubs his nose at the crown of his head and breaths in deeply. “I love you.”

Felix makes a garbled noise and goes limp, cheek pillowed on Carver’s chest. It’s just as good as a reciprocation.


End file.
